


Hogwarts in the West (working title)

by Zanmor



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Original Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-07 03:01:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1882632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanmor/pseuds/Zanmor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This work explores the wizarding world of the Wild West in America in the late 1800s.<br/>It is imagined with heavy influence from the wizarding world we know and love but features entirely original characters and plots.</p><p>Jane and her family travel West to seek their fortune when an enemy from Jane's past returns to ruin her. Jane must train her daughter, Amy, in the ways of magic while seeking out allies and powerful artifacts in preparation for a final confrontation with an old lover she knew at her witchcraft and wizardry school back in England. But will Jane and Amy be powerful enough? And what sort of allies can they hope to find in the Wild West who could help them against powerful magics?<br/>Just as important, can Jane and Amy salvage a life worth living from the traumatic experience of a cold February day in the Dakota territory?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> It is totally unnecessary to read these notes, of course. The story will pretty much explain itself, but I know there are some point that need to be addressed in regards to how I've told the story so far. If you plan on giving constructive feedback, these notes will probably be helpful but also contain spoiler-ish info.
> 
> First, I began this chapter thinking it would be from Jane's POV but pretty quickly switch to telling it over Amy's shoulder. So that's weird. I really enjoy the opening and I think it defines Jane's character pretty well in a short bit of interesting writing. I think I'd probably be best to jump back and forth a bit between Amy and Jane's POVs. On that note, I could (and should) probably describe the magic Jane uses at the burned down house to determine what happened there. At the same time I'd want to do that while not explicitly stating who died there until the end of the chapter. This story arc will deal with the trials and bonding of Jane and Amy as they avenge Steve's death, and I think the fact of that death not really becoming real for Amy until Jane says it is important. But I also think the chapter might already be a little heavy handed on that and doing something from Jane's POV would only make it more so.
> 
> Lastly, this is basically a first draft. It's absolutely gonna be revised and changed, so constructive feedback is welcome!
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Great black ambition filled her. It had led her across an ocean, across the world, and deep into the prairies and badlands of the untamed West. Ambition dark as the oil that filled the veins of the earth. Great as the sun they had spent five years chasing further westward. Filled with it for as long as she could remember, given words and purpose for it at a young age. Ambition had driven her to the ends of the earth. Driven her until it had seemed impossible to go any further.

And then love brought her the rest of the way.

The year was 1886 and the thirty second year of Jane Westfield's life. At this particular moment in time, reading with her daughter in a stagecoach, life was very much the picture of perfect. The stagecoach rolled and jolted along over the haphazard roads of the Dakota Territory. Jane quizzed her daughter over an old tome they had been studying the past three months.

“Amy, can you tell me the difference between Old World magical education and that of the New World?” Five years in the States had done nothing to her British accent.

The girl sighed in exasperation. Her eyes rolled toward the back of her head and her long curly black hair fell over one shoulder.

“Can't we learn more about the killing curses?” She had no mind for this historical nonsense. She should be learning to cast spells, not learning the different ways people learn to cast spells. When her eyes returned to their normal position, her mother's firm gaze was waiting, telling her she was in no mood for attitude. Amy dropped any hope of returning to the subject of magic in practice and answered dutifully, “Old World magic is now taught through a number of large schools created by groups of wizards who have systa- systema-”

“Systematized,” her mother offered.

“Systematized magical education. New World magic is still taught from master to apprentice though some wizards and witches take on multiple apprentices.” Amy dreamed of what it must be like to attend a school full of magic. Her mother had attended such a school when she was a girl in Britain, before she had met Amy's father and convinced him to search for oil in America.

“Good, you've stayed up on your reading. Can you tell me the benefits and disadvantages of each system?” Jane smiled pleasantly at her daughter, sitting across from her like looking through a mirror in time. Were Jane younger they might be mistaken for sisters.

Amy paused, brow furrowed in concentration. In short order she shook her head no.

Jane was not impressed, “Try.”

Amy chewed at her bottom lip, searching her mind for the thoughts, forming them into words. _The book hadn't explicitly stated advantages and disadvantages. What kind of trick question was this?_

“Well,” Amy began, “at a school full of wizards you could have each witch or wizard teach what they do best.” Her mother was nodding in affirmation. “And it's probably easier for the teachers to learn from each other. Plus they probably keep all their books there and everyone can read them all.” Amy was smiling when she had finished. Her mother seemed to want more.

“What about with a master and apprentice?”

 _Oh yeah_ , Amy thought, _but what sort of benefits were there to that? Only one person to learn from. Only their books to read. And nobody to share that experience with. No friends who were like me._ She shrugged.

“Well you did surmise the benefits of organized education well enough,” her mother began, “It has unique dangers, however. The people who create such a system are able to choose who can and can't attend. They can mandate what is and isn't taught. Often the students aren't even aware that these barriers exist and assume the administration is fair and open. What the master-apprentice relationship loses in breadth of experience and resources it makes up for in the freedom of the master to teach whomever she desires and to teach her apprentice whatever and however she wants.”

Concern grew on Amy's face. “Do schools really keep people out? Or not let them learn?”

“Absolutely. For instance, the school I attended was particularly fond of the idea that witches and wizards were born with a sort of spark. A natural inclination toward magic. Perhaps with some people this is true, but I believe that anyone who is taught could learn magic. But that school used this idea of innate ability as a way of keeping those who weren't from long bloodlines of witches and wizards from attending. And even then, they were not apt to let a witch or wizard in who was not a native Briton.”

“That's not fair.”

Amy's indignation was met by Jane's seriousness, “Not in the least. And yet that is the way of many systems created by people. Those with power seek ways to maintain that power and even to grow it.”

The stagecoach came lurching to a stop. A voice called from outside.

“Stay here,” Jane ordered her daughter as she opened the door, letting in a blast of cold February air. Amy strained to hear the conversation outside but couldn't make anything out through the constant growl of cold wind. Amy thumbed through her mother's copy of _Systems and Methods of Teaching Magic_ but couldn't distract herself from musing about what required her mother's attention outside. Were they set upon by bandits? No, there would be gunfire if that were the case. Perhaps something was blocking their path? But the stagecoach driver wouldn't call his mother outside for something like that. Even if she could levitate a fallen tree out of their path with magic, nobody in the entire world knew she was a witch aside from Amy and Amy's father. _Could mother levitate a tree?_ Amy had only rarely seen her mother use magic, and often only for small matters such as lighting a candle when no matches were handy. How powerful a witch was her mother? _What if she's doing magic right now?!_

Burning bright in her imagination, this thought caused Amy to leap forth from the stagecoach. Over eager, she went bounding downward and landed unceremoniously in a drift of snow on the roadside. Her head spun slightly and her knees ached from the fall but there was nothing serious enough to cause her to miss her mother doing magic. She found her feet and spun wide eyed to see streams of black smoke spiraling into the winter winds, drifting against the constant yet light fall of snow. The stagecoach had just mounted a small hill and down below the source of the smoke lay black against an otherwise frosted landscape, fires of red and oranges still blazing under the charred remains of a burned building. In the middle of these ashes roamed Amy's mother, wand out.

“What's going on?” she called the question to the stagecoach driver, who stood up in front of the horses, a hand petting the mane of one.

His startled response, “Back in the coach!” did not suit Amy. She walked pass him to get a closer look at her mother, who was routinely waving her wand about before pausing, head bowed, as if in prayer.

“What's my mother doing?”

“Child, it's best for you if you stayed in the coach like your mama told you.”

Amy shrugged away the hand he placed on her shoulder, never letting her eyes wander from her mother for even a moment. There was a terrible idea in the corners of her mind, the pieces of it at least, spread across her knowledge but they had not yet coalesced into the undeniable, a living nightmare.

_We were traveling to be with father._

Jane had thrown her hood up and pocketed her wand. She walked back to the stagecoach and began removing their trunks and belongings. Amy watched but stood motionless, as if she could skirt around the edge of this terrible circumstance and escape it unnoticed. The pieces were falling together.

_We were close. We should arrive today._

Last of all, Jane asked the driver about the shovels on the back of the coach. She handed him some coins and took those as well. The driver hopped back to his seat and, after asking one last time if Jane was certain she didn't want him to bring them to town, he rode off into the wintry morning. Jane handed Amy a shovel and they walked back down the hill, leaving their belongings in the snowy road, and began digging a short distance from burning ruins. Amy threw herself into the work. Thrust, stomp, lift. To distract herself.

Thrust. Stomp. Lift.

She had just wanted to see some magic. Thrust. She had wanted to see her father. Stomp. The work sent fire through her limbs. Lift. She paused long enough to toss off her robe, to feel the air bite against her exposed skin. She continued in a long winter skirt and vibrant blue blouse. Thrust, stomp, lift. The sweat froze nearly as soon as it touched the air and in short order they were done. Amy wondered at how easily the frozen ground had fallen away to her and her mother's spades. A shiver took violent hold of her.

“That's enough,” her mother said. She still wore her robes but the hood had fallen away as she worked. Light brown Dakota soil stained the sleeves and hem. Amy pulled her robe from the ground and brushed the snow from it before putting it on and hugging it close to her. No flakes fell from the sky now, but the sun was nowhere to be found. A mass of bodiless clouds bled from earth to sky, diffusing the day's light over the land and erasing any features.

Jane returned to the smoldering rubble and waved her wand over a spot. She then bent and lifted up a heavy oblong shape. Returning to the hole they had dug-the fresh grave-she carefully deposited the body. Amy felt tears beginning to form but wondered why she should cry. In this alien place, over this odd shape in the hole. There was nothing real about this. It was a nightmare. Her mother made to speak but the words died in her throat. She coughed instead and stood silent.

Amy grabbed a shovel and hefted a clump of dirt. Her mother nodded. It cascaded over cloth before coming to rest in the hole. Jane joined her and again they worked without words. They built the fire of exertion inside them and let it burn at their fears and pains. The dull throb of labor kept away fiercer demons. By the time they had finished, Amy could feel her stomach aching for food. All of this was better than what she knew was coming. All of this could be understood, could be fixed. In this bizarre land of sunless light and endless sky, this nightmare world, hunger and exertion were real.

Finally, putting down her shovel, Jane freed her wand from the folds of her robe once again. She took a deep breath and spun her wrist in an adept maneuver. The ground at the head of the grave glowed faintly, melting the snow nearby, and then the earth grew forth. Amy heard stone grind against stone as a glowing rock pushed upward. The shape stopped once it had reached some two feet high, circular at the top and descending into the ground with long straight sides. On the face of the stone were the words:

 

R I P

STEVEN J WESTFIELD

1854 - 1886

 

Amy cast her eyes over the stone, searching its cold surface for meaning. The words still weren't real, were still only another alien artifact of this nightmare land she'd been brought to. The pieces were there for her, bigger and plainer but she did not want to see them. She tried to focus on her hunger, to let it consume her. But she was no longer hungry. The thought of eating left her nauseous. She tried to focus on her aching limbs and the burn of exertion. But all the work was done.

“Mother?”

The cold world washed over her and all at once the warmth fell away and vanished. Amy's teeth chattered together and she shook violently. Jane threw open her robe, hugged it around her daughter and pulled her close. Together they stood, shrouded in their dark robes at the side of that grave. Amy fumbled half formed questions against her mother's shoulder until Jane uttered the thing she refused to admit to herself.

“You father is dead.”


	2. Prologue?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve Westfield is confronted by an old acquaintance his wife had warned him about.
> 
> If this chapter were included more or less as it is, it would be placed before what is currently labeled chapter 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my chapter notes will contains spoilers, just so you know. I'll use these as a way of reminding myself why I wrote each chapter and how I think it might function in the story overall.
> 
> I want to tell about what happened that created the scene Jane and Amy find in what is currently called chapter 1. This chapter shows what happened when Amadeus found Steve Westfield, mostly from an over the shoulder sort of POV of Steve. Now originally I had intended to simply allow Jane to use magic to see that spells had been cast and probably find pieces of the broken wand and the blade Steve had cut Amadeus with. But if I actually show a POV from Steve it becomes possible to set him up in the first chapter, make the reader think he might be the main character or at least important with the way he fights Amadeus, only to have him die anyway. If I want to pursue that angle then I need to add better exposition before Amadeus shows up so you actually care more about Steve.
> 
> This also let's me show Steve as being comparable in some ways to Jane. In conceptualizing these two characters it always seemed like Steve was sort of Jane's lackey, just going along with what she wanted (marrying, moving to America). But the Jane that marries Steve is not a Jane in need of lackeys. She's Slytherin but I'm not sure she ever needed or wanted lackeys. The betrayal of Amadeus and later finding true love in Steve tempers her more selfish ambitions, but if Jane hadn't been Slytherin she woulda been Hufflepuff; she isn't interested in having subordinates, especially not in the form of someone who has pledged to love her forever. So showing Steve like this let's you see that he confronts challenges without fear, without backing down. He's capable and confident and cares for his family. And though he's a muggle, he isn't afraid or even all that astounded by magic. Practical and level headed, he just takes it in and does what he can.
> 
> He's still woefully incapable of fighting Amadeus and what follows in this chapter is a result, not really (or at least not predominately) of Steve's skill, but of Amadeus' hubris. Amadeus will not confront Jane with the same air of confidence (though he does have that), since he can appreciate that she is a powerful witch and the last time he battled her he came out on the losing side.
> 
> It's also very important for me to note something that will spoil some later chapter, perhaps much later. Amadeus came to Steve's house because he detected the Unicorn Horn. The explosion at the end of this chapter destroyed that horn. The horn burns anyone who tries to wield it with impure motives (it had been set in an iron lantern so anyone could carry it and since it glows bright white and functioned well in that regard). Also, the slightest nick with its sharp tip kills anyone who has murdered.  
> Furthermore, the knife Steve took off of Amadeus is called the Blade Immortal. The Blade Immortal causes deep wounds from even the slightest scratch, wounds that few are likely to survive. But anyone who can survive such a cut then they will never lose blood again, making them impervious to a lot of the ways you might imagine trying to kill someone (such as gunshots and knife wounds). I'm not sure what "never lose blood again" means in regards to menstruation or if you ended up with a disease where blood letting is medically advisable. The one exception to the Blade Immortal's limited immortality is if that person is stabbed with the Unicorn Horn; in that situation they'd die anyway if they were a murderer.
> 
> So Amadeus actually comes off pretty well, since of course he survives the cut and explosion (though he's now wandless, which is a setback on top of his injuries) and the only thing that could have easily killed him, that Horn, was destroyed in the process.

Wind whistled through the big empty house where Steve Westfield found himself incapable of sleeping. The fire place was alive with warmth which filled the whole of the living room. The drafty construction of his new home left him no choice but to relocate his bed in the main room where a well maintained fire had granted him reprieve from the cold on most nights. He had intended to get workers back to patch up the worst of the drafts before his wife and daughter arrived, but the same storms that had delayed his family had also forced work on the house to wait.

Outside the land was silent with snow. Occasional shadows crawled from drift to tree under the reproachful eye of the moon. Even basking in the warmth of the fire, a shudder took hold of Steve from spine to soul as he looked out on that barren land. _What terrible place have I drug my family to?_ Ominous thunder rolled over the house. Steve's gaze wandered upward as the entirety of his home seemed to shake at the coming storm. _Storm?_ The night was clear outside. The moon lay naked in the sky, not a stitch of cloth to hide behind. Even the wind had died.

Steve fought back another shudder and carefully pulled a pot from near the fire. He poured hot, dark liquid from the pot into a cup and drank it too quickly, scalding his tongue. Blowing steam from the drink, he willed the bad thoughts away. Soon the sweet warmth was melting through his core. Calmed, he returned to bed.  _Tomorrow Jane and Amy will arrive. Certainly they will._ His family would warm this place in ways the fire could not.  _They will fill this cold, dead house with life. When they arrive it will be a home._

Unfortunately for Steve, someone else would arrive first. A shadow moved cross the moon. It stopped, a hooded figure silhouetted in front of the pale orb. Steve shot upright and did his best to put an air of confidence into his voice.

“Who are you?” Steve flung his feet over the side of the bed.

“Do not get up,” a rasping voice came forth from the dark shape.

But Steve did not need to get up. In the stand beside his bed there was a gun. He rested his hand on the top of the stand and turned his attention to the intruder.

“Where are they?” rasped the darkness.

 _It wants Jane and Amy?_ Steve considered throwing the drawer open and hoping he could get a shot off before the intruder drew its own gun and shot Steve down. He reconsidered.

“They're not here.”

“LIAR!” there was such force and violence in that voice that for a moment Steve knew the Devil himself had come to take him away to Hell. “I can find them without you.”

At this a flame began to grow in the middle of the dark shape's form and Steve realized with great horror that this was no ordinary bandit, no gunman. Nothing to lose, he tossed the drawer open but a blast of fire exploded against him. The nightstand was in flames on one side of the room as Steve lifted himself up on the other.  
“You, a wizard?” the voice mused, “No. No, not you. Just the recipient of some true wizard's protective charm.” The shape now stood over Steve, a flame once again growing at the end of its wand. Beneath the figure's cloak Steve could now make out his face. It was a man with dark eyes and a long beard as black as night. His eyebrows were wild and articulate, shifting with each change of expression. His eyes were full of hatred. Steve had not seen this man before and yet he recognized him.

“Amadeus.”

Surprise overtook his features completely and then just as quickly the anger returned. “So she has warned you. Pity for you, no warnings can sa-”

The cloaked figure had grown comfortable in his certainty of victory, was taking a moment to relish his success against a long time rival by way of murdering her lover. Steve had no time for that and the moment Amadeus' eyes wandered he flung into motion. In one movement he had flung his leg toward the outstretched hand, cleanly knocking Amadeus' wand away. The startled wizard stumbled backward and Steve, though slightly disoriented from being flung across the room just recently, found stable footing.

Without missing a beat he rushed forward, lowering his shoulders and taking the cloaked man full in the stomach. Amadeus grunted and the two of them came down hard on the floor. Each scrabbled for purchase, trading blows, desperate to live. Steve was finally able to straddle Amadeus, putting his full weight on him and clenching both hands around the man's throat. Amadeus scratched at Steve's face and arms, his eyes bulged in terror.

Amadeus flung his arms wildly as his face turned blue. Eventually his hands found a familiar chunk of wood, though one end was ablaze. He stabbed at Steve's face with his burning wand, jabbing fire into one of his eyes. Forced to break his choke hold, Steve fell away, still grabbing at Amadeus as he went. Steve's groping hands tore away something from the wizard. Steve gained his feet once again and looked down to find a sheathed blade in his hand. Gore poured from his left eye and agonizing pain filled him. The fire had spread, turning the house into a blazing inferno. Steve unsheathed the blade and peered through the smoke with his remaining good eye at his foe with the burning wand.

As Steve moved closer, the heat and exhaustion and wounds beginning to take their toll, he could almost swear he saw fear in the wizard's eyes. The wizard cursed something and swung his wand, but the instrument only sputtered forth a small bolt of lightning mixed with fire which flung wildly right out the window, exploding well away from the house. Steve knew this his best chance and lunged the remaining distance, blade outreached. Amadeus' face contorted in horrible agony as the blade came closer. The wizard seemed rooted in place and destined to meet the blade, but at the last possible second he swung away, robes flying up in Steve's face, the knife falling from his hand, a splatter of someone's blood on the floor.

Amadeus was fuming when he turned to find Steve lying on the floor, a fire burning nearby. The flames reflected in the wizard's eyes, his whole face was lit up with rage. _Dammit. I missed him, I'm lost._ These thoughts abated slightly when Steve saw that the sleeve on the wizard's wand hand was torn. The robes were dark but could it be that sleeve had been made darker with blood? He knew the skin underneath the tear now held a large gash and offered up blood eagerly to the world. _An artery? That's my only hope._ Still, he looked about him for something with which to defend himself. He found only splintered remains of the nightstand... and the gun! His arm snaked closer to it as he groaned, the ache of injury finally sneaking into him, making itself known. Just a little further.

“You damned insolent fool!” Amadeus hurled the words like death curses. The wizard clutched his bleeding arm but in no way did that staunch the bleeding. “After your death, I will find Jane and kill her as well. She will die slowly, calling for you to help her. But there is no help for her, just as there is none for you.” He raised the burning wand.

Steve lurched onto his side, grasping the handle of the revolver. On his side, using the last of his strength, he brought the sight level as he could and squeezed off one shot at the dark form in the smoke and flames. _Die, devil._ Steve saw a giant fireball burst forth from the shape. The flames engulfed his vision, blowing the house away.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter shows the months after that day in February. There's a bit of a jump; Amy and Jane here are already pass the initial shock and grief of having lost Steve. Their lives have taken on some semblance of normalcy and they even take time one day to see a traveling show.
> 
> I can also say that I'm fairly certain Amy will have her First Kiss in the next chapter, so you've got something (hopefully) super cute to look forward to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers here, as always, and not just for stuff in this chapter.
> 
> I thought this chapter was going to be about the dance but I didn't even get to that. I did introduce two characters who may seem minor now but who will become important years down the road, much to Amy's delight. As far as things that need to happen to make this chapter work better, first, that point early on when they are practicing magic needs to be framed better. I need to establish their location earlier, likely right before or during that bit of dialogue.
> 
> The second thing is bigger picture; there either needs to be more reference to how Amy and Jane deal with their grief in this chapter, or likely some scenes in a previous chapter that deals with that. Actually, if I did a chapter before, I could explain how exactly they are traveling with all their stuff (a bag of holding), as well as what life is like for them in this time, how they deal with death. Jane can also perhaps use this time to explain what happened to their father and why. How much of her past will she share with Amy? How would Amy react to knowing all that? Best to save some of it until later. Amy needs to focus on her magic and Jane cannot risk certain emotional reactions interfering with that.
> 
> I think Wild Tom may have gotten the best character description so far? I need to work on that.

In the months that followed the days grew longer and eventually the cold melted from the world. The sun burned away the darkness in Amy's heart until only a sliver remained. It would never completely vanish, that she knew, but in those bright warm moments of daylight she allowed herself to enjoy the sights and sensations around her. They traveled slowly south. The land grew longer and flatter. Nebraska looked similar enough to the place they had left; Amy could imagine it cold and desolate. Covered in snow and dying. She chose not to, instead taking it for face value in all it's bright greens and golds and budding wildflowers. Jane was relieved to see her daughter smile more and hoped she might hear her giggle once again.

They continued the magic lessons daily, never resting. Amy practiced casting spells using her mother's wand. It was difficult beyond Amy's belief and incredibly disheartening. She tried at a simple light spell for nearly a month before she was able to make the small green ball float forth from the end of the wand. And then it vanished all too quickly.

“That was excellent work,” her mother assured her.

“I couldn't even make it last. We'd be lost in the dark if I ever needed to do that for real.”

Jane placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder and looked into her eyes, “Wordless magic is not easy and your results are excellent. And with my wand, no less. Once you've a wand of your own, there's no telling what you'll accomplish.”

Amy felt like she could already tell what she could accomplish; little more than nothing. Still, at her mother's behest she tried again. She focused on clearing her mind of everything but what she was attempting to accomplish. Imagine the thing coming forth from your wand, the ball of light hovering in the air, moving with your wand as if attached by invisible strings though it would float suspended wherever she pointed. The way her mother had explained it, once you had a clear idea in your mind, making it a reality was much easier. And once you had practiced with the idea, it became even easier to recall it in the future. There was no shortcut to putting those hours in. Amy wouldn't mind that if only all those hours were showing better results.

Jane had also told Amy that wordless magic was particularly useful in the ability of the user to cast new spells without learning archaic words and silly hand movements. Simply form a thought and let it come into being. Amy's mind wandered from the idea of pure light and wondered for a moment at how much cooler it would be to create fire. To see a ball of flame shoot forth from the wand and hover above their heads. Almost without noticing, Amy swung the wand.

To her surprise and delight a flowing orange and yellow flame flicked out of it. To her horror, the flames kept coming, spewing forth on the surrounding grass and trees. Amy stood frozen in place until her mother took the wand from her hands, almost immediately transforming the spray of fire into a font of water which steamed and hissed the flames away.

“Momma, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.” Words were falling from Amy's mouth faster than elements had come from the wand.

“Nonsense.” Jane's tone would accept no further apologies. “That was a spectacular, if destructive bit of magic.” She smiled at her daughter and ruffled the top of her head. “No real harm done. Thank goodness it's still spring and the ground's wet.”

Amy's relief settled across her face in a smile. _Perhaps I'm a real witch after all._ With that bit of magic, Jane decided it time to call the day's lessons to an end. A traveling show was in town and afterward the town they were staying in was to have a dance. Jane had spent their few days in this town arranging an important meeting, though she would not share the details with Amy.

“You're meeting's today?” Amy asked as they made the walk back to town, leaving the blackened tree trunks and ground behind them.

“Yes, my dear, I do. I trust you'll enjoy the dance while I tend to that business.”

“I can't come with you to the meeting?”

“Absolutely not.” Her mother had known the question was coming. It was always the second question Amy asked, after inquiring as to when the meeting was. “You'll be fine at the dance. The boys will find you so cute, your feet will be sore by the time it's all over.” Jane smiled but Amy met her only with a frown. Amy decided to try a new tactic.

“Are you sure I'll be safe at the dance? What if they find out I'm a witch?” She couldn't help but smile at her own silliness now.

“Then I suppose you'll never find out what my meeting's about, seeing as you'll have an angry town of villagers to convince not to tie you to a burning stake.” Amy's mother always seemed to have a more clever response.

Amy and Jane spent the rest of the day at the traveling show. Amy couldn't say she much enjoyed it. Advertisements of incredible freaks of nature or bizarre animals inevitably led a small hot tent full of people gawking at some poor soul whose body was in unusual proportions but who Amy would not dream of calling a freak, or animals which would be truly stupendous sights if only they were better fed and not so obviously acting out of fear of the beatings they would receive if they disobeyed. It did not take much before Amy asked her mother to leave, though Jane was accustomed to these things and seemed to be quite enjoying herself, Amy noticed. Still, Jane agreed they might leave if Amy would accompany her to one more spectacle.

Outside, a man with a great animal of a beard hanging from his chin was making outrageous claims as to how many Confederates he had shot “dead between the eyes” in the “Great American Civil War.” Outrageous as the claims were, and though the numbers seemed to increase each time he referenced them, Amy was intrigued by the man. Aside from his unruly bear, he wore a high-crowned gray Stetson with an Ace of Hearts tucked into the band, and matching suit. His shirt under the gray coat was a fanciful red and his boots appeared to be made of rattlesnake.

“Ladies and gentleman, you ain't seen a shot fired until you seen the marksmanship of Wild Tom Hayes, what shot a hundred Confederates dead between the eyes, fighting for the North in the Great American Civil War not but two decades ago. Aged sixteen years, this young black boy enlisted and showed this nation what a young black man is made of. And I swear on my lost left hand-” At this he lifted his arm for all to see, “-Wild Tom Hayes killed more Confederates—shot well over ten score of them dead between the eyes,” he placed a finger dead between his own eyes, “than any other Union soldier ever did dream of.”

Amy wondered what good an oath was when sworn on a lost limb, but these thoughts vanished when Wild Tom drew his pistol and began spinning it rapidly in his right hand. The revolver glistened in the light with each twirl until the bearded black man flung it high into the air. While it sailed upward, he pulled the card from his hat and flicked it off in front of him. A moment later the revolver was in his hand and a single shot rang.

“Just like that, I tell you, hundreds of Southerners went to the gates of Hell or my name isn't Wild Tom Hayes. Go fetch that there card, Colt.” The small black girl, clad only in overalls without a shirt or shoes, rushed off to collect the card and came running back past her father, holding it out for the crowd to see. Amy's jaw dropped for, in the middle of that Ace of Hearts, there was a single bullet hole.

Jane and Amy remained to watch the entire show of marksmanship. Wild Tom shot a rifle over his shoulder while looking through a mirror, he shot the same rifle with his toes after pulling off the snakeskin boots, and he shot his pistol again at six separate targets, spinning it between each shot. Not a single time did he miss. If anyone could kill a thousand men in the Great American Civil War, surely it was Wild Tom Hayes, Amy thought with the rest of the impressed crowd.

Even Colt, Tom's daughter, took up some guns and shot an apple from her father's head, as well as a toy soldier from an impressive distance. Wild Tom joked that he could have won the war in a week had his daughter been alive at the time. Tom finished the show by offering a challenge to anyone present to out shoot him. Targets were set up at an incredible distance and several men tried their luck, paying to take a shot. None hit and when no more challengers stepped forward, Tom dispatched the half dozen glass jugs with apparent ease.

With that, Amy and Jane left the traveling show in high spirits, returning to the inn where they had booked their stay. Jane helped Amy pick a dress for the night—something long but light which would be easy to dance in. The dress was deep blue with white lace trim and a blue bow on the back. It stood in deep contrast to Amy's pale white skin and seemed to compliment her dark hair and eyes marvelously. As for Jane, she changed into a clean pair of robes but would not join Amy in a dress of her own. Thus Jane was ready for her mysterious meeting and Amy was left wondering what she would actually do while her mother attended such business. Surely not dance with some strange boys she wanted nothing to do with.

 


End file.
